For military veterans with disabilities, cultural ambivalence toward disability broadly, and war injury specifically, requires ongoing identity and interactional work. How veterans understand and create meaning around disability is potentially intensified and transformed as they shift from one institutional setting (the military) to another (the university).

This research draws on two sets of scholarship: critical disability studies 1 and sociological veteran studies. Apart from two notable exceptions (Roberts, 2019 and Cassidy & Albanesi, 2021a), the two literatures have surprisingly limited overlap, particularly in terms of disabled veteran identity. Outside of sociology, important contributions to veteran studies engage with a critical disability studies perspective, particularly in the fields of history (Gerber, 2012; Kinder, 2015; Imajoh, 2022) and anthropology (Wool, 2021; Hautzinger & Scandlyn, 2014). However, while critical disability studies has flourished as a robust interdisciplinary field, very little sociological scholarship focuses on the experience of disabled veterans (see Kazemi, 2019). This study aims to address that lacuna.

Identity is a major focus of veteran's studies. Veteran's studies continually works to nuance this understanding of veteran-hood to include consideration of intersectional elements of veteran identity, 2 the impacts of combat service on identity formation, 3 and the effect of tropes, stereotypes, and bias on the subjective construction of one's veteran selfhood. 4 This study explores disability identity work among veterans with attention to these key themes within prior veteran's studies scholarship.

I engage the concept of "injury capital" (Cassidy & Albanesi, 2021a) where meanings attached to service-connected disability are hierarchically ordered by factors like injury type (sexual, mental, physical), context (e.g. training, "friendly fire," out of country, "outside the wire," combat), severity of impairment, and the ubiquitous negative civilian perception of post-traumatic stress (PTS). As we indicate by the term "capital," this concept is not merely suggesting that service-connected injuries can be ordered on a spectrum or hierarchy by the degree of stigma. In theoretical alignment with the rich array of "capitals," 5 conceptualizing it as a capital suggests it is a potential resource that an individual can use to achieve certain outcomes, like getting a job. While originally theorized in the scope of servicemember/veteran experience (as operationalized here), the concept of injury capital could potentially be expanded to paramilitary (e.g. firefighters) or civilian (e.g. athletes) disability identity work.

A fuller understanding of disability identity work of veterans requires attention to the array of cultural meanings at play. Here I explore how veterans express agency in the negotiation of these meanings as they construct a disability identity. 6 This study addresses that exploration with two broad research questions. First, what are the primary associations with disability the subjects engage, and which inform their identity work. Second, how do the embodied experiences of disabled veterans (e.g. emotions, chronic pain, access challenges, medical treatment) affect how they make sense of acquired disability and the development of a personal disability identity.

Data and Methods

To explore veteran disability identity work I conducted in-depth, semi-structured interviews with twenty-four veterans. As part of engaging a disability studies perspective I chose a qualitative research method that centers the experiences of disabled veterans expressed in their own words. I also chose to quote extensively from the interviews, allowing the subjects to retain some control over their personal narrative. I drew these interviewees from a broader mixed-method survey study of 325 student veterans, approximately 65 percent of whom identify as having a service-connected injury. For further exploration of the quantitative analysis of that survey and the research site, see Albanesi et al. (2022) and Morris et al. (2019). While approximately two-thirds of veterans with a service-connected injury who took the survey indicated they might be willing to participate in an interview, many did not respond to the follow-up interview request. Thus, I used a purposive sampling method to arrive at the final pool of twenty-four participants. Selection criteria for the purposive sampling included experiencing a service-connected injury which they viewed as having a significant impact on their current quality of life. Given my goal of an intersectional analysis and because the public often views the military as a white, male monolith (Harris, 2018), I oversampled for racial and gender diversity relative to their representation among veterans on campus. Of the twenty-four interviewees, thirteen are veterans of color, eight are women, and all either have some VA disability rating or think they should. 7 The project received IRB approval, and all participants gave informed written consent prior to their interview. A graduate research assistant transcribed all of the interviews. I then hand-coded the data inductively, with no a priori codes, using an iterative grounded theory method that allowed me to recognize themes within the data (Strauss and Corbin, 1998). All names were anonymized and identifiable details in the interview data were masked or altered to protect confidentiality.

Results

Cultural meanings surrounding disability heavily inform identity work for veterans with service-connected injuries. Not surprisingly, most veterans I spoke with use deficit-based framings of disability. Although a deficit model of disability is common in the broader US civilian culture, veterans I interviewed uniformly share examples of an even more negative framing of disability within the military. Examples participants share of meanings associated with disability within military culture include brokenness, burden (to the unit or mission), weakness, faking, whining, and "not trying hard enough." Interviewees speak at length about interactions in which other servicemembers explicitly wield deficit associations in order to pressure them to eschew a disability identity. Participants recall these encounters as both part of the socialization process when first entering the military, and then later interactions with military personnel (supervisors, providers/doctors, other service members, etc.) after experiencing the service-connected injury.

In the following passage, William elaborates on how disability functions within the military attribution of "value," exemplified by the slang term "broke dick."

I was in the infantry and when somebody's hurt you call them a "broke dick" and they're good for nothing and so you get rid of them and you replace them with somebody that can do the job. And they might, broken or disabled folks might be good for something, somewhere, but they're no good for the military. They're no good for the infantry. They can't complete the mission, they can't do anything….So if you're broken you're no good, you get rid of them like you would any piece of junk.

Locating this sentiment within the hegemonic masculine cultural context of the military, "broke dick" encapsulates the powerful denigration of disability. More broadly, subjects commonly reference "brokenness." Military culture frames "broken" servicemembers worse than useless. Many interviewees reference the concern of an injured servicemember being a liability, or even a potential liability. Referencing the risk of liability to the unit, one subject rhetorically asks, "Are you dependable?"

The categories of "useless" and "broken" draw on the broader stigma of weakness. Almost every subject I spoke to connects disability to weakness. For William, military culture characterizes talking about pain or injury as whining, "If you said it once, then they would say, "Okay, yeah we all got hurt." If you said it twice, well okay now you're a whiner…Yeah, stop whining because you're in pain. We're all in pain. So, what you're in pain. Why does that matter?"

Here military culture expands disability to be not merely acquired weakness, but a reflection of an underlying prior weakness. William continues to share this causal logic:

So, I did it several times and I had several buddies that we were hurt bad but when there was a battalion run or a brigade run we just took a bunch of pain pills…and we ran up there,…and…smiled and no pain and everything's awesome. And then we went home and iced and took more pain pills. Because nobody was going to admit that, because they say that "pain is weakness leaving the body," right? And if you're broken physically, it's because you're weak mentally. So mental weakness leads to physical injury, so you must be weak-minded. We don't need weak-minded people in the military, right?

This passage shows how within the military's binary of mental versus physical disability, "weakness" functions as the cause of injury or disability. Many subjects reflect on how mental disabilities (PTS, anxiety, depression, etc.) are silenced, subjected to intense scrutiny, and dismissed. Subjects suggest military culture also frames disability as a moral flaw.

INTERVIEWER: And after you entered the military how did you feel like disability was talked about within the military?

MARIAH: A moral flaw, it was sort of like, yeah. If you got hurt it was because you did something wrong.

INTERVIEWER: Like you made a mistake?

MARIAH: Yeah, and if you couldn't get through it then it was because you can't make it, so, I mean you're a number. You got a hundred people behind you waiting to take your spot, so, you're hurt you're hurt. Either get up or move aside.

The association between weakness and mental disability deters subjects from seeking help while in the military. Many subjects recount personally feeling pressure and seeing others experience pressure to not seek help, particularly for psychological/mental injury.

INTERVIEWER: Did you feel like you could talk to people, either your [military] supervisor or your family?

MARIO: No, I don't think I could have. No. No, I really…And that's probably why it caused a lot of anger, a lot of other issues because it just [exacerbated] that because in the military you're…not stoic but, you're stoic. And you're not really allowed to just show the hurt and so…So yeah, mentally I was broken. And so, I was having issues with my relationship at the time, and I couldn't really confide in my family. They didn't understand. [And] in the military, it's not…Mental health for active-duty military isn't something that you talk about.

Timothy shares a similar sentiment, clarifying that in his leadership role, while aware of the prevailing association of mental health issues with weakness, he personally tried to encourage help-seeking. Timothy states, "Being in the military, there's still the stigma of, with the PTSD and the TBI, going to get help, it's considered a weakness. And I was a senior enlisted member, and I made my guys go [seek help] if they needed to go, whether they wanted to or not. And my peers and my supervisors were like, 'Oh. That's just weakness. They're just being weak,' and all that."

According to Danielle, the stigma the military places on help-seeking even includes surveillance by fellow servicemembers over activities like talking to the chaplain. Danielle shares "It just doesn't look good, because you go for chapel for a couple reasons…You're either having issues or you're suicidal." A handful of interviewees express frustration with this situation. As Lim Kyu explains it:

Yeah, and then it's like a double-edged sword so where you can't even get any help at that point because you're considered weak. Then they take away your position. And you just fall into like depression that's when they like turn to alcohol, that's when they turn to drugs and the problem just keeps building up, building up, and it all comes from the unit. But for whatever reason people [the military] don't realize that and just PowerPoint us to death saying, "You need to seek help, you need to seek help," "Why are you choosing alcohol over this?" Because you guys are stigmatizing me for seeking help! That's why I'm self-medicating. They don't, they don't get that. And it just blows my mind how, I don't know how that's even allowed because I mean we've been at war for how long now?

For Lim Kyu, the contradiction of the military's manifest stance ("seek help")—expressed when servicemembers are being "PowerPoint[ed] to death" to seek help for mental health crises, while at the same time maintaining a culture of extreme disability stigma—is obvious and frustrating. Andre points to this same disconnect between the "official briefing" and reality, stating:

So, that's the thing. It's supposed to be easy, but there's a rumor that if you go to Mental Health you're gonna be kicked out of the Air Force. That's kind of an unwritten rule that goes around between us, military members, but during the official briefing they say, "No," they encourage you to go to mental health because, "They're there to help you." But, just based off personal experience, everybody who I've known who's self-reported themselves to mental health has been kicked out the Air Force.

Both Lim Kyu and Andre acknowledge efforts made within the military to change the messaging and protocol around addressing mental disability. However, as these efforts resist the hegemonic culture that denigrates mental disability, they both see them more as hypocrisy than authentic institutional change.

Timothy, who served for more than twenty years, also acknowledges what he perceives to be a real shift over those two decades in the military culture around mental and physical disability.

I was actually part of that [earlier] era that nobody cared, suck it up and go to work. It was basically what you were told, and that was with if you got into a fight with your spouse, if you had a family member die, if you saw something terrible, whatever it was, it doesn't matter. Push it down, you have a job to do…That was sort of the dominant thing for my peers, when I first came in, if they had an issue, "What's going on? I need to know if I can depend on you. If you got stuff going on, go take care of it and come back later." And that didn't start changing until I became a mid-grade NCO…

Eduardo, who also served in the Army for more than twenty years, relates that despite his vehicle taking eight explosions in one day, he was "one of those guys that never went in when something happened" and that his supervisory role made him even less likely to seek help. He explains, "Yeah, I mean, I was…When you are in those [supervisor] positions, you're one of those guys to say, 'You can't show weakness.' Once you start showing weakness, then your guys are gonna see that and then it'll affect your company." Paul felt pressure to not seek help for reasons independent of stigma but nevertheless attributes the extent of his physical disability to this delay. "I was the only medic for my company, so, even when I did feel injured, I really didn't feel like I could take time away and…So, [the severity of his disability] could just be from not seeking care."

The array of meanings around disability in service-connected contexts are not uniformly deficit, but appear to function hierarchically. My interview data suggest evidence of such a hierarchy of "injury capital" (Cassidy & Albanesi, 2021a), where meanings attached to service-connected disability are tacitly rank ordered by factors like injury type (sexual, mental, physical), context (e.g. training, "friendly fire," out of country, "outside the wire," combat), branch and geographic location. This hierarchy is also gendered. For example, as the military historically excluded women from combat roles, this devalued and continues to devalue their disabilities (Dallocchio, 2021; Harris, 2018).

Participants engage in identity work that employs this hierarchy of injury capital. Examples include using alternative diagnoses to minimize stigma and sharing feelings of shame due to having acquired the disability in training (versus combat) or having a comparatively lesser severity of injury. My data suggest that veterans elevate the injury capital of those disabilities acquired through a rather narrow definition of patriotic sacrifice (or sacrifice for one's unit). This distinction functions as a mechanism of exclusion for many disabled veterans. Not surprisingly these narratives indicate a dynamic and ambivalent distancing from a disability identity, particularly when attached to a lower value in the hierarchy.

Zach relates his experience of frustration interacting with a medical provider who challenged his diagnosis because of deploying to Afghanistan (vs Iraq), "You know, but you hope [the PTSD] gets better, type of deal. And then, but when you try explaining it, you're given this very…I was told by my doctor in [a US state] that I couldn't have PTSD because I didn't see combat. Because I was in Afghanistan. And this was at a time when people were just like, 'Oh, you're going to Afghanistan, well at least you're not going to Iraq.' I heard that one." Zach adds that even though his unit deployed, because he was in the National Guard it was assumed the deployments "were cush." In Zach's case, while he expresses agency in his critique of these external comparisons and judgements, they still affect the emotional experience of his disability.

We also see a hierarchy of injury capital at play as subjects engage in frequent comparison to other disabled veterans. Many subjects understood their own disability through this type of comparison. Many wanted to emphasize that their disabilities were not as serious as others' injuries or a sense that others' disabilities were worse. This comparison process additionally seems to use a zero-sum calculation of the amount of help or resources available.

INTERVIEWER: Do you think of yourself as a disabled veteran?

ERIN: No, because I think that's more for people who have like way more significant injuries than what I have, you know what I mean? Like they lost a limb in combat, like that's a disabled vet. You know I'm still able to function, yeah it kind of sucks sometimes but, no.

Paul similarly distances himself from a disabled identity through comparison to others.

INTERVIEWER: At this point, would you identify as disabled?

PAUL: Not really. I mean, there are certainly things that I know I can't do, but compared to a lot of people that have been medically separated and don't have the benefits that I have, I'm probably better off than some of them.

When I asked Brenda how accurately her VA rating reflected her service-connected injury, she responded, "I feel like it's pretty…I think it's on par. Although, sometimes I feel some shame for having it." To attach the strong emotion of shame to one's VA rating suggests both a heavy symbolic function of the VA rating and an inescapable comparative dynamic—perhaps unintended—by the quantitative representation of disability for veterans. These emotions, including shame, frustration, and fear of appearing to exaggerate one's claim to patriotic sacrifice/honor, become infused into this disability identity work.

Challenging Deficit Frames

While deficit discourses of disability dominate the interviews, I find a second, contradictory theme in this data: ambivalence with, and resistance to, deficit meanings attached to disability. Participants share moments of agency, pushback, and resistance. For some, this includes examples of when the political, moral, and institutional military contexts of their injury shaped the meanings they attached to their disability and their disability identity.

HANK: There's a stigma in the military that if you have a mental issue, you're weak. And back in the day, I probably did think like that. Because what you're trying to do is build a fighting force, and when you see somebody pulling out because of those type of weaknesses or those type of issues, you kinda feel like they're quitting on the team. And…But after…I can honestly say, that after I started to experience the [injury] issue [he changed his thinking].

James critiques the military for stigmatizing the outcome (military injury) it produces by design, "once you're not useful to the Navy, you're a kind of a broken cog in the machine, and so there's a lot of name-calling and accusations…Your body is broken and now we're going to ostracize you, it's kind of ridiculous." Mariah similarly suggests that the military devalues injury and the injured. She shares, "in the grand scheme of things, you mean nothing. So, your problems [injuries] mean nothing. So, pick up and move on. I don't know any other way to describe that, it's pretty messed up."

When asked if experiencing his own injury changed how he thinks about disability, Timothy responded, "Yeah, it did. It did, a lot. I looked at a lot of things differently. There's things that I thought was weakness or just bull— [but then I] started trying to see, okay, why are they acting this way or what's causing whatever with me and with my guys and everything."

Identity Work and Deep Ambivalence ("Do you identify as disabled?")

I found the question, "Do you identify as disabled?" particularly interesting because it elicited significant ambivalence. These responses are similar to Roberts's (2019) findings of veteran rejection of disability labels, "participants' narratives expose a particularly complex space between abled and disabled" and "narrative dissonance" (183, 195). Only a third of the subjects I spoke with answered "yes" when asked, "at this point, do you identify as disabled?" Lim Kyu stood out as the most unambivalent "yes."

INTERVIEWER: So at this point do you identify as disabled?

LIM KYU: Yes, yes I do. Even with the school too I let my professors know every class that I take I give them my disability letter and we go over it together and I tell them this is what I have and this is what it's for so that they'll have that understanding just like general understanding of what's going on. So yeah, I do claim myself as a disabled.

William shares his thoughts on the language of "disabled" versus more euphemistic language.

I don't like the term [disabled] because that sucks. Nobody wants to feel disabled, but I have the placard on my car, I park in the space, you know, I walk around with a cane. You know I don't go hiking with the guys up in the mountains and stuff and that's because my knees don't work and by definition that's disabled. I know a lot of people want to feel better about it and call it "differently-abled," I don't feel differently-abled. I'm not able to do the stuff that I was able to do; my knees are busted, so yeah, I'm disabled.

On the other side, six subjects responded to that question with a fairly clear "no." For Mariah, the disabled label belongs to others more seriously or visibly impaired, "Um, not really, like I, maybe on the formalist of forms I would, but not really. I don't know, I just think it's kind of rude to other people who are visibly, just, out-of-this-world disabled, so I don't know." Oscar, Jasmin and James all begin their response with the identical phrase, "I try not to."

JAMES: I try not to, but yeah…I try not to identify as much as I [can], I try to hide my limp, and I don't wear the diapers on the outside of my pants."

For Oscar, identifying as not disabled is about tolerating pain:

OSCAR: I try not to. Does that make sense? 'Cause otherwise I get myself into not doing things because of the label. Sometimes…if I tell myself that I can…You're willing to deal with this pain but you know you're gonna have to do this activity then I guess in that sense I'm not disabled 'cause I'm willing to deal with it.

JASMIN: I try not to only, because, I mean mine are more physical so unless I tell people like, "Hey, this is what's wrong with me" people don't ever know. So, I try not to consider myself as disabled.

Others like Kirsten and Paul said "somewhat" or "not really." Erin said she "didn't really know" how she identified. A few, like Brenda, who has continued to experience anxiety, migraines, and dysphagia for the last eight years, shares that she thinks of her identity as separated into public and internal parts.

INTERVIEWER: At this point, do you identify as disabled?

BRENDA: Not publicly…I guess internally, I do know that I have problems and maybe that kinda adds to the anxiety too, knowing that I feel that I'm never going to get better.

INTERVIEWER: Internally, you think of it as being disabled?

BRENDA: Yeah. But I don't tell people about it. I don't discuss it in public. You go to a VA and people are bragging 8 about their disability ratings, and I just stay clear of that conversation. I don't wanna be a part of it.

INTERVIEWER: And do you remember when you started to think of it as a disability?

BRENDA: You know, at least with the swallowing, that probably started early on, within a year of having the problem. Because it was so profound and persistent, that I was actually scared that this is gonna be a forever thing which, eight years later [it appears it will be]. And yeah, I thought that I'd have to get a feeding tube at one point because it was so bad. So I think, easily within a year of battling with the dysphagia, I started to kind of internalize that.

Carlos also introduces the language of an "internalized" identity in his response to this question and expresses ambivalence over his specific diagnosis along with strong emotions about having to leave the military.

INTERVIEWER: So, at this point to you identify as disabled?

CARLOS: Yes, um, only I think in my conversations like this, though. So, I don't know. Do you mean like internalized?

INTERVIEWER: Yes.

CARLOS: No, I think I frustrated it myself because I should have been further than this in life and then when I was first diagnosed and got told I'm leaving the Marine Corps, I just thought, "Okay, you can go to college, start a new [life] eight years early." But the long run I miss it, and I identify more with the military mindset not so much as a disabled. Because I know on the appearance you don't have, you can't really tell, [but] um, I think about it every day. So, I guess I, yeah, it's just different for me because it's all mental. Like I came out completely unscathed. I got friends that have bronze stars and one leg but just didn't happen to me. I don't know. Somehow I lost my mind, according to them…When I got to the VA to see my mental health [provider] I'm always breaking down, because, I don't know why, like I'm always, I just get flooded with emotion over it. I think I just have a lot of angst and I'm mostly just mad at myself. Like I don't even think it has to do with the [post-traumatic stress] disorder. I think some of it has to do with my ability to control and hold things in, but if anything, I'm just disappointed because I had the opportunity and I…screwed it up.

For Carlos, a disability identity is complicated by not truly accepting the military's psychological diagnosis, "somehow I lost my mind, according to them."

When answering this question, the subjects above are largely working with deficit frames of what disability means. In contrast, other subjects share their process of negotiating or challenging the definition and meanings attached to disability. Naomi works through explaining her frustration with others labeling her. She then offers a set of metaphors that she finds more helpful.

INTERVIEWER: So according to your own definition, would you say you identify as disabled?

NAOMI: I would say yes. Would I tell everyone? No. I would make my own accommodations in my head. Unless I'm really, really out of place and having a really bad day, you wouldn't know at all…But I'll just make my own so, I would say yes, but I don't like to feel disabled. I don't… As much as I would like to be accommodated, I don't want anyone to continue to go out of your way or be like, "Oh, you know she got that, don't do that." I'm like…That would get on my nerves, that would really make me mad…Because some people will do that and they don't mean any harm by it whatsoever and they're trying to help but that can really be nerve-wracking, and frustrating, and could really get me going. Like, "You have no idea how mad you're making me right now," because then what you're telling me personally is that I can't overcome this. Or you're not a survivor over this or this is completely…This is your life. This is something that you have to let take over your life instead of, "You know what? This is your life but, you can choose to wear it like a purse. It's just something that you wear, you deal with it, you keep on, instead of it being like a big bus always blocking you." "I can't get out this box, I can't get out this box." And to me, it's just like, you have it, you deal with it. It's almost like an accessory. It's not gonna define me at that moment or anytime or my life. I'm not gonna do that, and so, that's why I like, "Yeah, it's a disability but it's not a disability. It kinda makes you who you are." So, yeah, that's my final answer.

For Timothy, he wants to define disability in a way that allows him to locate himself outside of its scope, that is, as not disabled.

INTERVIEWER: Have you thought about yourself as disabled at any point, or…

TIMOTHY: No, not really. For me, and I guess I'm part of the stereotype too, being disabled means you're not able to function, and not able to do what you need or want to do. I am. And I just have to mitigate, plan a little bit, and go…I can't do the same things I did as I was twenty. But, I'm forty-five. So, I'm not gonna be able to do things I did at twenty anyway. And while there's nothing wrong with the term disabled, I don't consider myself disabled. I'm still able to be with the girls, take care of my family, school, and everything else.

For Hank, disabled is an unhelpful label and he wants to reframe his situation to avoid engaging with it.

INTERVIEWER: Okay. At this point do you identify as disabled?

HANK: That's a difficult one. I used to never wanna accept that or even put a label on it 'cause to say there's something wrong with me. I don't know. Sometimes I get in that state of mind, I guess you could say I feel bad for myself. And then other times, I feel like I man up and I just accept the fact that I've seen the worst of humanity and it's something I have to live with.

Xiang responds to the question by talking about how his preferred identity label is as a disabled combat veteran.

[I feel] positive and negative, I guess. Positive in certain respects because I am a combat veteran, and I wanna make sure that definition is put out there, so everybody knows. A military member who has seen combat and sustained an injury from it, [is a] disabled veteran in my opinion. The negative side on it though is the fact that I wasn't in as long as I wanted to be.

Here Xiang delineates the importance of the combat context within a hierarchy of injury capital, suggesting that the label "disabled veteran" is most appropriately applied to only those injured in combat. We also see an example of the instrumental use of injury capital (that is, as a resource used for an intentional effect) when he states, "I wanna make sure that definition is put out there, so everybody knows." As each of the interviewees wrestle with the "disabled" label, we see agency in how they engage in the ongoing process of disability identity work in fluid and situated ways.

Another common theme involves how veterans express agency and resistance through the ongoing process of disability identity work. We see one example of expressing agency in response to medications prescribed by military providers or the VA. While the veterans find "meds" a source of common frustration (high number of drug prescriptions, ongoing frequent changes in levels and different drugs, tweaking to get adjusted to a tolerable level) they also find it an opportunity to demonstrate agency over their medical treatment. For some, exerting control (often against medical advice) reflects their growing disability expertise.

Many subjects experience their disability being treated by over-medication or pushing medication, both while in the military and after separation with the VA. Naomi shares how although she does not want to be on meds, she feels her providers pushed them aggressively. After repeating several times how she does not want to be on meds, she says "I'm not on medicine right now. [chuckle] You guys try to drug everybody." Hank similarly expresses agency by refusing medication and pursuing alternative medicine options not offered or endorsed by the VA:

Yeah, actually, I paid out of pocket and went to a meditation retreat. Trying to use more of the mindfulness…'cause I'm not a fan of all the drugs. 'Cause I don't feel like I'm myself on them. I think that was the turning point for me, was that. Really, seeking out those other opportunities that the VA wasn't offering.

Subjects offer controlling disability disclosure as another example of demonstrating agency in the negotiation of a personal disability identity. Naomi, whose experience of military sexual trauma also caused PTS, carefully controls when and to whom she will disclose.

NAOMI: I don't know. I just feel that it's mine. It sounds crazy but…I don't know, like [that] pen is my disability. It's not yours, it's nothing you can do with it…I don't know. I don't just give it to everyone. Yeah, if I feel like giving it to you, and by giving it to you, sharing it with you, allowing you to help me, then I will. But I take possession of it so…Nope, it's no reason anyway. See them [people she might disclose to] for a couple years and they're gone. They don't have to take that part with them.

As part of her disability identity work, Naomi's has learned that disclosure for her involves an intimacy and vulnerability that is emotionally costly, experienced as giving away a piece of herself. Sophia also experienced military sexual trauma causing PTS. For Sophia, this combination also leads her to not feel comfortable even sharing the PTS diagnosis with other disabled veterans, at the potential cost of mutual support and belonging.

INTERVIEWER: And why do you think that you haven't [hung out with disabled veterans]?

SOPHIA: Probably my anxiety and fear and like people prying. Or I don't want to talk about it and getting questions asked about other military members like, "Oh, what happened, what did you do?"

INTERVIEWER: So you think that other veterans might feel comfortable asking and then you would feel…?

SOPHIA: I would have to re-explain, or re-live, or re-experience it.

Both Sophia and Naomi's experiences combine two highly-stigmatized and personal injuries (military sexual trauma and post-traumatic stress) that preclude communal support from other disabled veterans.

Another common theme in individual veteran's disability identity work involves the process of getting a VA rating. Most veterans I spoke with described that bureaucratic process as one of frustration, even if they ultimately were satisfied with their rating. Although some distinguish very consciously between their VA rating and their identity as "not disabled" (e.g. Carlos talks about wanting a VA rating but rejecting the label of "disabled"), for others the process of fighting for a disability rating triangulates with their internal turmoil or resistance to adopting a disability identity. The maximum VA rating (100 percent) poses a challenge to veterans like William, as it suggests a corresponding "full" disability identity he is not comfortable with.

WILLIAM: So, at my last evaluation they determined that adding up all the different disability I had, that I was about a hundred percent and I was shocked. And I went back to my PTSD counselor, and I said, "I don't get it," she said, "What don't you get?" I said, "Well I don't feel like I'm hundred percent disabled. How am I a hundred percent disabled?" I felt very guilty for being a hundred percent disabled. And I have other buddies that are so much worse than me and my PTSD counselor said, "You know, don't think about it, don't think about your disability rating and compare it to other people's disability rating. Think about it more like a threshold and there's that a hundred percent threshold and you might be right on that threshold which makes you a hundred percent. And some people may be way beyond that threshold." And they're not able to function. They can't leave their house, they lost both legs, because I got, I have both legs. I'm still able to function. How am I a hundred percent? That was hard for me at first because I didn't want to, I didn't want to accept that label of a hundred percent disabled. My wife tried to convince me that it was okay because there was a lot of benefits that came along with it, but I didn't like it. But I even went back for more evaluations and said, "Are you sure? Are you sure?" and they were like, "Do you really want us to reevaluate you?" And I went through another evaluation, and they said, "Yeah, that's what you are," I said, "Okay as long as you're sure." I don't want to feel like I'm cheating the system.

INTERVIEWER: So it was more about not only like you were cheating the system but thinking about yourself as a hundred percent?

WILLIAM: I think it was both, I didn't want to think of myself that way and because I didn't want to think of myself that way, I was wondering what everybody else thought of me too. Like if I think that I'm not hundred percent disabled then probably they don't think that I'm a hundred percent disabled either, which means that they probably think I'm cheating the system so that made me wonder, "Am I cheating the system? Did I do something wrong?" So, then I had to go verify and what's going on and it actually caused more anxiety.

For many of the veterans I interviewed, like William, the specter of "faking disability" looms large and functions as a powerful disincentive to seek help or identify as disabled (Hautzinger, & Scandlyn, 2014). Here we see a connection to the experience of policing and surveillance of disability shared by disabled civilians (cf. Samuels, 2014). The veterans share that these concerns were amplified while in the military but clearly continue to infuse VA and civilian contexts.

Emotional Dimensions of Negotiating a Personal Disability Identity

The role of emotion also affects how veterans identify vis-à-vis disability. Some participants share emotions connected to context of their individual acquired impairment: military screw ups, questioning mission, moral injury, frustration with not being able to control the separation decision, and shame. In this section I explore how emotions of trauma, debility, anger, frustration, guilt and denial create layers of meaning to a personal disability identity.

Hank shares a devastating experience on a deployment to Afghanistan that led to moral injury and PTS.

HANK: Yeah, I was pulled in separately one on one and was told that if our unit really didn't do like x, y, and z [i.e. engage in combat], our colonel would never stand a chance at making a star. It was one of the worst unjust situations I've ever been in. I was like, the value on our lives, is nothing, just to get that guy a promotion. I can say the eleventh month into my tour, two guys did die. Over bullshit.

Later in the interview Hank ties this situation to his difficulty meeting and trusting people.

HANK: Because it's something that goes back to, I really don't want people to get to know me. My story. 'Cause, I don't know…you could say it kind of goes back to that betrayal. Being betrayed. So, just letting my story out. Situations like this, I feel could be beneficial and might help, but just when it comes to bumping into somebody, to befriending somebody, I don't…I have a very difficult time.

INTERVIEWER: And you mentioned this kind of this experience of betrayal do you feel like that betrayal's had an impact on how you feel about your injuries or your experience of your injuries?

HANK: Yes.

INTERVIEWER: Okay. And when you said guilt what did you mean?…

HANK: I was in a position of authority to do something to protect those below me and, yeah, I know they came out with PTSD too, so…but what could I have done more?

Here we see a critical issue of betrayal that Hank ties to the military's perverse reward structures for promotion. This betrayal produces both moral injury and downstream negative effects on help seeking and future social belonging of disabled veterans. For Hank, anger directed at the military for this betrayal does little to diminish his ongoing guilt for not "do[ing] something to protect those below me" and both of these intense emotions shape his experience of his disability. Brenda similarly draws connection between her feeling her deployment mission was not a "worthy cause" and her feelings about her resulting disability (anxiety, dysphasia and migraines).

BRENDA: I was diagnosed with anxiety as well. And it's weird where that came from 'cause I'd never been treated for it in the past, or depression or anything like that. And so some of that, whether it was underlying, or it was just made worse on my deployment and then afterwards. I had a really stressful…We were deployed, of course, we were in a combat zone, and I was deployed to a detention facility. And we had our own little FOB [forward operating base], and we worked…My responsibility was to take care of prisoners. And they were awful. They tell you everyday that you deserve to have your head cut off, or burned alive, or all the ways you're gonna die.

INTERVIEWER: Were they women prisoners or men prisoners?

BRENDA: All male. Only male. Only male. It was a tough deployment for everyone there. We had a lot of suicides, and depression and insomnia were rampant. It's just hard to work in an environment where you don't feel like it's a worthy cause. And there's people shooting RPGs at you at night, and the alarm systems didn't always work, so you felt like a sitting duck 'cause we were just in a tent every night. Where they put us…We were in a tent, and there were a lot of local nationals or people that were contracted to work for our FOB, and they were all male. They didn't even separate the women from these contracted men, and so they would go into our bathrooms. I say bathrooms loosely, it's like a porta-potty at best. But you didn't ever feel safe 'cause the tents don't lock, and you've got these Pakistani and Afghan men and we don't know anything about them, and they were right next door. It was very strange. So, a lot of insecurities that developed, and not sleeping.

INTERVIEWER: So was that when the anxiety started?

BRENDA: Yeah, yeah. So, not that I am ashamed of it, but nothing to feel proud of either.

For Brenda, the context of her psychological injuries combines a complex set of factors. On one hand, she expresses a critical assessment of the military—from the mission goal (not a "worthy cause") to the lack of appropriate resources (alarm systems not working). On the other hand, we hear layers of feeling unsafe, from the general (people shooting RPGs at you at night, being "sitting ducks," "just in a tent") to the gendered experience of an ongoing situation where the women servicemembers were not "separated from these contracted men."

Several subjects draw connections between their frustration with military medical treatment of their injuries and how they now experience their disabilities. James believes that crucial time was lost after his spinal cord injury, where the doctors would have improved his resulting paraplegia if they had just immediately taken an MRI higher up on his back. Similarly, when characterizing how disability was thought of in the military, Zach shares that he believes the negative stigma of certain injuries in the military (like back pain being associated with "faking") was the cause of mistakes in his medical diagnosis/treatment which subsequently exacerbated his disability.

INTERVIEWER: And in the military, how was disability thought of?

ZACH: Yes. [chuckle] It was very negative…I don't know a nicer way to put it outside of that. So…[Actually] I know a nice a way to put it. When I got my back injury, the doctor didn't give me an X-ray.

INTERVIEWER: Really?

ZACH: Yes. I was just sent straight to physical therapy. It was after three months of them giving me physical therapy, they go, "Why aren't you getting better?" Then they did an X-ray and said, "Oops." So, it was definitely, like negative connotation by a doctor. And that's what actually exacerbated me to have the rotoscoliosis from just having a back injury.

INTERVIEWER: Okay. So, then if he had diagnosed it initially correctly…

ZACH: Yeah…

INTERVIEWER: Then there would have been a different treatment plan?

ZACH: Oh, exactly the opposite of [what the treatment should have been].

Naomi, Mariah and Sophia all convey frustration with the therapists and supervisors involved with their treatment. Sophia (who experience military sexual trauma) shares the compounding trauma of having her sexual assault dismissed. She elaborates that it is "still hard for me to talk about because the person [her military supervisor] I went to didn't help me and he was a male officer, and he made it sound like it was my fault."

Unlike most of the other subjects, Paul connects his personal resistance to addressing his mental disabilities to his family's military history, instead of to military culture as a whole.

INTERVIEWER: And how about with the post-traumatic stress? Did you feel like that's something you could talk about?

PAUL: I didn't really talk about it in part because my…Not really so much because of any cultural thing in the military. I know it's…for some people it's not really considered okay to talk about, but my father was a Vietnam vet, and he took his life when I was [a child].

INTERVIEWER: I'm sorry.

PAUL: I didn't want to admit that it was a problem because I didn't want to wind up in the same boat, so to speak. So, I really ignored that for quite some time until pretty much right before I was getting out and I had my own son born.

INTERVIEWER: Yeah. But then you were kind of like "This is something?"

PAUL: Yeah.

Paul incorporates lifelong meanings attached to mental disability—shaped by a traumatic family history of veteran suicide—into his disability identity work and initial resistance to acknowledging and seeking help for his injury.

Disabled Identity Versus Disabled Veteran Identity

In contrast to the ambivalent responses to the question of "Do you identify as disabled?" the subjects generally had an easier time answering the question, "Do you identify as a disabled veteran?" The vast majority—all but six, including most of those who eschewed a "disabled" identity—felt more comfortable with a "disabled veteran" identity label.

While most subjects see the "disabled veteran" identity as clearly preferable to a "disabled identity" (discussed above) this is not the case for everyone. While negotiating a disability identity, it is clear that these veterans are juggling both the legacy of military deficit framing of disability but also a range of civilian stereotypes of "disabled veterans" as well.

Civilian cultural typologies of veterans engage and give meaning to the identity label "disabled veteran" for former servicemembers. McCartney (2011) offers a useful civilian typology. Using data from a content analysis of national print media coverage, McCartney develops a four-part veteran typology (hero/victim/victim-hero/villain). The "hero" category is further split into two sub-categories: specifically courageous (e.g. risking life to save another) and soldier wounded or killed. The "victim" category has three subtypes: victim of poor military or political strategy, victim of the lack of appropriate resources/equipment (also includes examples of being victim of specific weapons like IED which may be framed differently than traditional fighting), and victim of psychological damage from war. With the "victim-hero" combination, a presumed moral superiority of the soldier is undermined because of moral questions about a specific war (e.g. Afghanistan). For the fourth category, "villain," McCartney offers examples of soldiers behaving brutally (e.g. to POWs) or in off-duty contexts (e.g. engaging in a drunken brawl).

Several of my subjects, like William, share a perception that civilian stereotypes of disabled veterans tend to make a "disabled veteran" identity problematic and to be avoided. On one hand, William first speaks to the concern that civilians will accuse him of "faking" disability and on the other, annoyance at civilian behavior he sees as overly sympathetic, pitying, or infantilizing.

WILLIAM: Yeah, I don't think people would look down on me, because in the civilian world…so in the military, yeah, they'd be like, "Oh yeah that guy's busted and really not good for anything." [But] in the civilian world I don't think people would look down on me. In the civilian world I think people would stigmatize me as someone acting like I'm disabled when I'm really not disabled, because there's a lot of, I've heard it, you know, "Isn't that nice to collect a paycheck for free." "Isn't that nice, are you really that hurt?" You know, and for a guy that served in the military that had a lot of honor and dignity and pride in what I did, I don't want to look like, have the appearance that I'm acting like I'm hurt. I don't want to do that. So, then I would just rather kind of avoid that all together. So, if somebody thinks that I'm acting then, never mind, just, "No, no, I'm fine, whatever."

[later]

William: I'm like, "Ugh, I don't need sympathy." I don't want sympathy, I'm not here to get people's sympathy, I don't want that.

INTERVIEWER: And do you feel like that's more of a reaction from civilian students or veteran students?

WILLIAM: Civilian. Veterans have no sympathy for veterans, it's kind of like, "Yep brother you're hurt, we're in this together. You're hurt, I'm hurt, we'll be alright." But it's not like [with civilian students], "Aw, are you okay?" No, there's none of that. But a lot of that does come from the civilian world because they almost look at us wounded vets like hurt puppies and none of us really want to be looked at like hurt puppies. I mean we're people. Yeah, we got hurt, we were doing something; yeah we were happy to be there, we chose to be there and we're hurt but, yeah we can still continue to function and move forward and do something. And yeah, I can't do some things but you don't need to feel sorry for me. Just kind of clear out of the way, give me a second, and I'll be fine.

Here William shares his emotional frustration with discordant interactions with civilians – some insinuating he is faking disability for compensation, while others infantilize/emasculate him as a "hurt puppy." For William, interactions with veterans tend to offer a communal "we're in this together" recognition and understanding we hear in the sentiment, "You're hurt, I'm hurt, we'll be alright."

Other subjects reference the civilian stereotype of "crazy veterans," which leads some to distance themselves from that trope by rejecting a disabled veteran identity altogether. As one of the signature injuries of the post-9/11 wars, civilians are familiar with PTS, but often stigmatize it as involving crazy, unpredictable, and violent behavior.

LIM KYU: For veterans, no, definitely not because we all have something; but civilians…If I tell them I have PTSD I'm sure they will freak out. I'm pretty sure and if I tell them about like I went to war twice and all that, then some people might be like, "baby killer" because we hear that a lot for whatever reason, baby killer, like we're out there killing babies or something, which is ridiculous. But yeah, we hear that a lot. I've heard that a lot. They're like yeah, "I don't know why people call you guys heroes, you're a bunch of baby killers."

INTERVIEWER: Have you had people say that?

LIM KYU: Yeah, yeah and I have to refrain myself from kinda going off. I'm like, "well at least I've been able to do something for my country, what have you done," and I just walk away. Yeah, if I tell them about disability, I'm sure some people are gonna be like skeptic about it like, "Ewwww" and because with like PTSD they have this thing where like people think if you have PTSD and you just instantly go off on other people. You're an automatic psycho and all that you have all that stigmatism.

Mariah connects the "crazy veteran" stereotype to a binary veteran typology.

MARIAH: I think so, [civilians] either think we are a hero or a villain. Like if you tell someone you're a vet, they'll either thank you a thousand times or they'll ask you if you killed a baby. So, it's like I'd rather not have either of those combinations.

Both Lim Kyu and Mariah reference the specter of "soldier as baby killer." In the interview exchange with Lim Kyu, I found this surprising given the context of the generally positive support for the military after 9/11 and I (perhaps too softly) pushed back on this claim. The doubt I experienced in that moment was largely informed by Lembcke's (2000) scholarship in "The Spitting Image," where he challenges the veracity of the iconic image of anti-Vietnam War protesters spitting on uniformed servicemembers returning from war. Hautzinger and Scandlyn (2014) find a surprising number of the post-9/11 servicemembers they studied repeated the story of Vietnam veterans being spit upon or called "baby killers." They conclude, "While these stories may have been relatively rare and isolated incidents, they are potent social myths that convey today's veterans' fears of feeling ashamed or being shamed." (63) Whereas Mariah merely references the possibility that a civilian might ask if she killed a baby, Lim Kyu claims to have been accused of being a baby killer. In either case, by evoking that culturally charged imagery, it suggests that for at least some post-9/11 disabled veterans, the historical and cultural resonance of the "crazy veteran" trope following the Vietnam war informs disability identity work today.

Other subjects, like Naomi, Mario, and Hank below, also share their sense of how that trope affects civilian perceptions of disabled veterans.

NAOMI: I think that sometimes [civilian] people feel more comfortable if you're [using] a crutch or if you're missing a leg or something like that. Because they can actually see and then they can determine in their mind, "Oh, they'll still be able to do this or to do that." But when you come in and you look healthy and stuff. They're like, "Okay, she's disabled…Is she gonna go postal in the office?" And you're like, "No, it's…[not like that]."

Hank laughs as he shares that the friends he had prior to entering the military now think that he is "batshit crazy." He goes on characterize how they think, "Oh man…he was normal before, now he's just crazy." Clearly this is challenging. Hank describes his internal reaction as, "And it's like, 'Whoa.' I feel like this is my new normal. I don't feel crazy."

For Mario, who has PTS (in addition to TBI and other physical injuries) the "crazy veteran" stereotype was brought home in painful ways in an interaction with his girlfriend at the time.

MARIO: I just think the stigma that's out there, veterans are kind of crazy or whatever that case may be. I mean…I can't really articulate that, but I don't know if I make any sense. I just think that there's this perception about veterans that are dealing with PTSD and they're suicidal or homicidal. And yeah, I don't know.

[later]

INTERVIEWER: Have you had that experience where anyone's ever reacted, had a negative…

MARIO: Yeah. I heard my ex-girlfriend speak about her friend that was dating a veteran, and he was…I guess he dealt with some PTSD issues, and he would go out on this rage and I guess she was just having a hard time coping with that. The friend was with the boyfriend and I guess he got violent once and so my girlfriend had that…She had the idea and she was like, "I hope you never do that to me." And it just seems like…Yeah. I don't know. It was very judgmental, I guess, on her part, but it kinda hurt me. Just because, we're not all the same, but…And yeah, it was just kinda like he was a veteran and he had PTSD and maybe people would just think that because you went to war, you have PTSD, it's necessarily true.

Here, Mario's ex-girlfriend believes he might be dangerous and violent toward her, a fear shaped by cultural tropes and reinforced by a friend's similar experience. For Mario, this is hurtful. Eschewing a disabled veteran identity allows veterans to avoid this type of emotional experience. In addition, some subjects distance themselves from the military/veteran identity part of "disabled veteran" because they are not comfortable or interested in potentially being asked about their military experience (by fellow veterans nor civilians.) Hank shares how after separation he returns home injured but extremely reticent to talk about his experience. As he describes, "I come back. I was pretty highly decorated from my tour and I come back and all the old friends are proud…But then it comes into the details, 'What did you do?' It's like, 'Well I don't wanna talk about this. Read the citation.'"

Discussion

Utilizing a critical disability studies perspective, this study aims to explore the fluid and agentic disability identity work among a sample of student veterans with service-connected injuries. I engage two primary research questions in this paper. First, within these disabled student veterans' narratives, what are the primary military and civilian cultural associations with disability that inform their identity work? Second, how does their embodied experience (e.g. emotions, pain, access challenges, medical treatment) shape how they make sense of disability and the development of a personal disability identity?

With the first research question, I find several core themes. The first, and most common theme, is that of deficit associations of disability. Perhaps not surprisingly, common associations with disability are complex and ambiguous, but generally negative. These findings are aligned, but perhaps surprisingly extreme examples of critical disability studies scholarship on how disability is constructed within ableist power structures as deficit (Berger & Wilbers, 2021; Reaume, 2014).

Within this theme I explore those constructions embraced within the military (as a culture and an institution). Examples participants share include framing disability as brokenness, burden (to the unit or mission), weakness, faking, whining, and "not trying hard enough." On one hand, these military frames embrace a medical-model construction of disability (Berger & Wilbers, 2021; see also Hautzinger & Scandlyn, 2014, p 59 on military attempts to destigmatizing PTSD by medicalizing it) and on the other, wield the specter of "faking" (Hautzinger & Scandlyn, 2014; Samuels, 2014) and disability-as-weakness as part of disciplinary techniques of power (Foucault, 1979). These constructions expand our understanding of cultural power dynamics of disability and how they inform the personal disability identity work of veterans.

Interviewees recall some of these perceptions as emerging during the institutional socialization process when entering the military, while others happen later in interactions with military personnel (supervisors, doctors, other servicemembers, etc.) in the context of their service-connected injury. Subjects also share stories of post-separation interactions with civilians, whom the veterans perceive as drawing on problematic cultural typologies of veterans (e.g. McCartney, 2011). These interactions reflect powerful meanings associated with service-connected disability which inform and constrain identity work.

Data also show a hierarchy of "injury capital" (Cassidy & Albanesi, 2021a) where meanings attached to service-connected disability are hierarchically ordered by factors like type, severity, context (e.g. combat vs training) as well as the ubiquitous negative military and civilian perceptions of PTS (Thibodeau & Merges, 2024). Participants do identity work which engages and navigates this hierarchy. Examples include attaching feelings of shame based on acquiring the injury in training or other non-combat context, utilizing frames that compare severity of injury, and using alternative diagnoses to minimize stigma.

These findings can lead us to ask who (or what) this hierarchy of injury capital serves and how it does that. While many other forms of capital (e.g. cultural capital, social capital, symbolic capital) are primarily theorized as resources to reproduce economic privilege 9 (Bourdieu, 1984; Coleman, 1988), the concept of injury capital does not immediately seem to engage with that theoretical dynamic. Does a hierarchy of injury capital primarily serve the institution of the military, or does it serve civilian culture? The findings here offer support for both possibilities. On one hand, we see subjects share exposure to a hierarchy of injury capital while in the military, which I argue instrumentally valorizes the downplaying of pain, invisible, or mental injuries (e.g. PTS) by active servicemembers. We also see examples of a hierarchy of injury capital shaping identity work in veteran-civilian interactions (for example, anticipating a "crazy veteran" trope among civilians).

Future research could expand on Kinder's (2015) work on the national "Problem of the Disabled Veteran" exploring how some manifestations of injury capital (and not others) address this problem (see Kinder, 2015, for discussion of cultural ambivalence toward imagery of cyborg prosthetics; also Smith, 2014; Todd, 2023). We can also explore the extent to which injury capital serves disabled veterans across intersectional identities or is more likely to serve veterans who most clearly fit the association of servicemembers as white men. For example, since the military did not allow women to serve in all combat roles before 2015, even if they were injured in combat or other hazardous zones, technical exclusion from "combat injury" could diminish claims to positioning in this hierarchy. Similarly, veterans arguably position military sexual trauma (MST) at the very bottom, evidenced by subjects like Sophia and Naomi opting for the (also stigmatized) resulting PTS label as preferential to MST (Thibodeau & Merges, 2024).

Future research might also explore how the hierarchy of injury capital changes over time. For example, Timothy, shared above his perceptions of some (positive) change within the military toward both physical and mental disabilities over the more than twenty years he served. This scholarship might also explore how increased awareness of the consequences of TBI in civilian contexts, (e.g. professional football) might reconfigure the position of TBI in terms of its injury capital.

Within the first research question I also find an important theme of challenging deficit frames. Here subjects share both ambivalence toward and resistance to deficit models of disability. Participants share moments of pushback and resistance. For some, this includes examples of when the political, moral and institutional military contexts of their injury shaped the meanings they attach to their disability and their disability identity (Iqtadar et al., 2020; Davies, 2021, 2022). For others, it was after transitioning to the university setting that they encountered compelling challenges to deficit understandings of disability (Cassidy & Albanesi, 2021b). This suggests important differences in disability identity work between veterans who transition after military separation to university versus non-university civilian contexts. Other examples of agency in negotiating a personal disability identity include exerting control by changing medications (against medical advice), choosing to seek help even when military supervisors discourage it, and attempting to pass as non-disabled in certain interactional contexts.

With the second research question I identify core themes centered around emotion and embodied experience. My data shows the important role of emotion in disability identity development (Goodley et al., 2017). Some participants share emotions connected to their specific disabling context (military screw ups, medical errors, questioning mission, moral injury), frustration with having no control over their future career in the military, and shame (Iqtadar et al., 2020; Davies, 2021, 2022). Many also share stories of complicated and aggravating long paths of navigating both the military and Veterans Administration (VA) bureaucracies.

Limitations and Conclusion

As this qualitative analysis is based on a purposive sample, the aim is not to generalize about all disabled veterans. Instead, it is an exploratory study of the negotiated and varied experiences of acquired disability status among this group of student veterans.

The concept of "disability" within the United States is both heavily loaded and highly stigmatized. Commonly defined in relation to the culturally rejected notions of dependence, weakness, and inability to work, disability is framed as antithetical to hegemonic masculinity (Shuttleworth, Wedgwood & Wilson, 2012) and autonomous productive citizenship (Erevelles, 2011, Samuels, 2014). For military veterans with disabilities, military and civilian cultural ambivalence toward disability broadly, and war injury specifically, affects ongoing identity work and impression management. How veterans understand and create meaning around disability is potentially intensified and transformed as they shift from one institutional setting (the military) to another (the university)(Kraus & Rattray, 2013, Hinton 2020).